I Now Pronounce You Robbed
by DinerGuy
Summary: Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. Shawn finds out that weddings can be dangerous when someone takes the "borrowed" bit of the old saying to a new extreme.


Thanks to veggiewoppa on PF for making sure this all made sense!

Disclaimer: Psych and all its characters and such belong to their respective owners. This story itself and Robert are all mine. Sadly, I am not being paid for this, and I certainly mean no copyright infringement.

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"It was the perfect plan!"

Shawn shook his head. "Sorry to break it to you, dude, but stealing wedding gifts during the ceremony isn't exactly the best robbery idea I've heard. Although the whole dressing up and sneaking in as a member of the catering team was a pretty good angle. But you could have done better. Next time, you should try -"

"Shut up!" The man's tuxedo was quickly dampening with sweat. He wiped an arm across his forehead for the umpteenth time, wrinkling the suit's sleeves further as more moisture beaded on his brow. The gun trembled as his hands shook, but he retained his grip on the weapon and kept it pointed more or less at the pseudo-psychic. "Just tell me how to get out of here."

Shawn grinned slightly and nodded, though he kept his hands raised. "Okay. Do you want that to be in the back of a police car or not?"

The man grunted in annoyance. "I am really not in the mood for games right now."

"Oh? Too bad. I was ready to pull out the blindfold and pin the tail on the donkey board." Shawn looked around the room as he spoke. "Or would you rather a round of musical chairs?"

They were in a reception room at one of Santa Barbara's fancier hotels. It was decorated in white lace and flowers, and a table to the side held stacks of beautifully wrapped gifts and envelopes. Another long table sat near the front of the room, holding a multi-layer wedding cake that had to be at least three feet tall. Several rows of tables were set for the wedding party's arrival, arranged around the perimeter of the room to leave the center open for a dance floor. Except for a few inches between each table, they ran continuously around the entire room.

The barrel of the gun was now pointed at Shawn's knee. "I've got a bullet just waiting to go through a non-vital part of your body. Now quit messing around and answer my question!"

"And I'm supposed to know a safe way out how?" Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"You're the department psychic, aren't you?" the man snapped.

"Look ... Mike. Can I call you Mike?"

The man frowned in annoyance. "My name's Robert."

"Okay, Robert." Shawn nodded. "Just because I can commune with the spirits to solve a case doesn't mean I can turn them on and off to help criminals escape the law." He looked the other man in the eye. "Why don't you -"

"Did you think I was joking?" Robert brought the gun back up to Shawn's chest. "This is the last time I'm going to ask you. How do I get out of here?"

"Seriously, there's no way you're going to get out in one piece, other than in handcuffs or a body bag," Shawn told him. "The cops will be here any second, and they aren't going to let you just walk out the door."

"They will if I have a hostage," Robert growled.

As if on cue, a siren began wailing outside. Robert jerked his head towards the windows at the sound, giving Shawn the perfect opportunity.

He dove for the nearest table, ducking under the floor-length tablecloth as Robert whirled back towards him. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he reached the next table before a bullet ripped through his previous position. He continued crawling until he was behind the fifth table on the row, then stopped and peeked around the edge of the white cloth.

Robert was slowly turning, keeping his gun trained several feet off the ground as he watched the spaces between the tables for any sign of movement. The tablecloths were swaying slightly from the air moving behind them, and the man's brow furrowed as he tried to determine where Shawn was hidden.

With a slight grin, Shawn scrambled several tables to his right, taking care not to make too much noise with his hands and knees. He then turned and hurried to his left, causing the white fabric to ripple from the movement. He stopped to assess Robert's thoughts on the situation

The man looked more confused than before, jerkily moving the gun to the right then the left, trying to get a bead on Shawn. Grinning in satisfaction, Shawn started to the left, making his way past four tables before turning. Another shot tore past, this time passing a good three feet to his right.

As Shawn scrambled to the right again, the doors burst open. Robert spun in surprise, getting a shot off at the police before he was tackled to the ground. Lassiter wrestled the gun from the other man's hands, but Robert managed to fire one final shot before being overpowered.

A yelp of pain came from behind one the tables at the edges of the room as Lassiter finally snapped the cuffs around Robert's wrists.

"Spencer, are you all right?" the head detective demanded.

"Thanks for the concern, Lassie," came the pained reply. "At least I know you still love me."

Leaving the prisoner to the officers who had burst in with him, Lassiter stalked over to the table from behind which Shawn's exclamation had come. He put his palms on the tabletop, leaning over to look on the other side. "Spencer."

Rubbing his forehead, Shawn looked up to meet his gaze. "Yes?"

Lassiter blinked at him in disbelief for a second. "You're not shot?"

"No, but thank you for the concern." Shawn pouted. "I think I'm going to have a bruise."

"You tripped?" Lassiter snorted.

"Hey," Shawn said indignantly. "I'll have you know I am very well coordinated. I was just paying attention to not getting shot by a gun-toting robber."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Get your butt off the floor, Spencer. We've got the situation under control."

"Hmm, I think I'll stay here," Shawn replied. "It's rather comfortable at the moment."

"Fine. But if you don't come down to the station, you won't get paid for this case," Lassiter called over his shoulder as he headed for the exit.

"On second thought," Shawn jumped up, jogging to catch up with the head detective, "you look awfully lonely. Want me to tag along for the ride?"


End file.
